novelnext Chapter 68 Dog Whistle Politics
Chapter 68 Dog Whistle Politics
Chapter 68 Dog Whistle Politics (Total 7400 words published)
Cartwright gave Leo no breathing room.
The impact of the "praise to death" has not yet subsided, and the second wave of attacks has already quietly arrived.
That noon, Frank stormed into Leo's office in a huff.
He slammed a crumpled flyer onto the table in front of Leo.
"Look at this," Frank said gruffly. "My old buddies have called me five times in the last hour, all asking if this is really true."
Leo picked up the flyer.
This is a well-made flyer with thick paper and vibrant colors.
The flyer featured a photo of Leo Wallace at the construction site, accompanied by the eye-catching title: "Pittsburgh Regeneration Plan: Leo Wallace Brings New Hope to the City."
At first glance, this appears to be promotional material from Leo's campaign team.
Even the layout style is imitated perfectly.
But Leo's gaze fell on the "Detailed Planning Explanation" on the back of the flyer.
There, a set of data and charts were listed in bold.
"According to inside sources, Mr. Wallace's highly acclaimed revitalization plan will undergo major adjustments in its second phase."
"The second phase of the project will allocate 80 percent of federal funding to infrastructure upgrades in the Hills and Brooklyn areas."
"At the same time, in order to promote racial equity, the second phase of the project will implement a new employment quota system, giving priority to ensuring that the employment rate of minority workers is no less than 60 percent."
Below is a carefully edited comparison image.
On the left is a dilapidated white working-class community, and on the right is a rendering of a planned, revitalized minority community.
Below the image is a line of smaller text: "Where will your tax money go?"
Leo put down the flyer.
This is "dog whistle politics".
There wasn't a single racist word on this flyer; in fact, it used positive words like "fairness," "revival," and "commitment" throughout.
But the signal it sends is extremely jarring to white blue-collar workers in Pittsburgh who are already struggling with economic anxiety.
It's telling them: Leo Wallace got the money, but he's going to use it to curry favor with the Black and Latino people.
He plans to give the jobs that should belong to you to "outsiders".
"What were those workers asking me?" Frank paced back and forth in his office. "They asked me why the money was being spent elsewhere. They asked me if we didn't need fairness just because we're white?"
“I tried to explain, to tell them it was a rumor, to tell them our plan covered the whole city.” Frank stopped and looked at Leo. “But they didn’t believe me because the data on the flyer looked too real, and it exploited the darkest fears in people’s hearts.”
fear.
This is a driving force that is more powerful than hope.
For those working-class white people who had just begun to see a glimmer of hope in life, nothing was more terrifying than the prospect of "loss."
Cartwright grasped this perfectly.
He doesn't need to prove it's true; he just needs to create doubt.
Just as Leo was pondering how to deal with the unrest in the white community, Sarah walked in.
She looked terrible, and was holding a tablet computer.
"Leo, we've run into trouble in the Hills and Brooklyn."
"What's the trouble?"
“Rumors.” Sarah handed the tablet to Leo. “Someone is spreading these rumors at barbershops, churches, and house parties in these communities.”
The screen displays screenshots of several local community forums.
The posts are all very similar, but they all have only one core argument.
"Look at the people around Leo Wallace."
The post included a group photo of key members of Leo's campaign team.
Leo, a white man.
Frank is a white man.
Sarah is white.
Karen is white.
Ethan, a white man.
"He promises to revitalize our community? Don't dream. Look at his circle; there isn't a single face like ours there."
"He's just a typical white savior who wants to use our votes to put him on the mayor's seat and then, like all those white politicians of the past, forget about us completely."
"They said the so-called second phase of the project was just bait," Sarah said in a low voice. "They said that once the election is over, the funds promised to us will be transferred to the wealthy area to build golf courses."
Leo looked at the group photo.
This is indeed a fatal weakness.
While his team is professional, efficient, and passionate, it does lack diversity in terms of racial composition.
This might not be a problem under normal circumstances, but under the magnifying glass of an election, it becomes a handle for the opponent to attack.
This is a perfect combination of punches.
In white communities, Cartwright portrayed Leo as a "traitor who sold out white interests to appease minorities."
In minority communities, Cartwright portrayed Leo as a “hypocritical white elite who exploits the votes of people of color.”
He used race as a wedge to forcefully penetrate the cracks in Leo's "People's Union," which was originally built on class interests.
He attempted to re-segment the "poor" as a whole into "white poor" and "black poor," causing them to distrust and hate each other.
This undermined Rio's most fundamental political foundation.
That evening, Leo personally led the team to the hilly area.
He tried to execute his plan, to speak directly with ordinary people and dispel these rumors.
He walked into a barbershop that was usually very busy.
In the past, when he appeared here, people would greet him warmly and discuss the changes in the community.
But today, when he opened the door, the conversation inside the store abruptly stopped.
Several Black customers who were getting haircuts stopped what they were doing and stared at him coldly through the reflection in the mirror.
The barber's scissors were still snipping away, but he didn't look up, focusing solely on his work.
An invisible wall stood between Leo and these people.
"Good evening, everyone," Leo tried to break the silence.
No one responded.
After a while, a young Black man sitting in the corner stood up.
"Mr. Wallace," the young man said with a polite tone that kept him at arm's length, "we've heard about your grand plan, and it sounds promising."
"That's true," Leo said immediately. "We've already prepared the budget, as long as—"
“Yes, as long as you’re elected,” the young man interrupted him, “but what we want to know is, behind that beautiful blueprint, how many people actually look like us?”
The young man pointed to his face.
"Is there even one person in your office who truly understands what it's like to grow up in this neighborhood?"
Leo opened his mouth.
He wanted to say that Ethan's policies covered racial equality and that Frank's union had been advocating for the interests of all workers.
But at this moment, all policy explanations seem pale and powerless in the face of this problem.
Because the facts speak for themselves.
There were indeed no Black people in his inner circle.
Leo didn't refute it; he couldn't even look the young man in the eye.
He turned around, pushed open the door, and walked out of the barbershop.
But he did not leave the hilly area directly.
He was not reconciled.
He doesn't believe that a few malicious flyers can erase all his sincerity or sever the most basic trust between people.
He continued walking along the main road.
He saw a group of Black women who had just finished their evening service chatting in front of a red-brick church.
Leo composed himself, forced a smile, and quickly went to meet him.
He pulled out the brochure for the "Revitalization Plan Phase II" from his pocket.
"Good evening, ladies, I'm Leo Wallace, and I'd like to talk to you about the renovation of the community school—"
Before he could finish speaking, the air froze.
The smiles on the women's faces vanished the moment they saw Leo. An older woman wearing a hat pulled her companion aside, turned and walked away without even glancing at Leo.
"Let's go, don't listen to these white people's nonsense, they're all liars."
That low murmur clearly reached Leo's ears.
Leo's hand froze in mid-air, the brochure rustling in the evening breeze.
He gritted his teeth, withdrew his hand, and continued forward.
He then went to the basketball court on the street corner.
Several young people who were playing ball stopped immediately when they saw him approaching.
They stood behind the rusty barbed wire, holding the ball, staring at him coldly with the look one would give an intruder.
That silence was like a thick wall, firmly keeping him outside the community.
At this moment, no matter how grand his plans were, no matter how fervent his goodwill, in this neighborhood thoroughly poisoned by racial narratives, he was merely a white intruder with ulterior motives.
Leo wandered around that street for a full hour.
He tried five times, and each time he was ignored, rejected, and treated coldly.
Until the cold night wind pierced through his shirt, until he had to admit that tonight, being here couldn't change anything.
He could only open the car door and leave under countless cold, wary, and even hostile gazes.
When he pushed open the door to his campaign headquarters, he brought back a chill and an unprecedented sense of defeat.
The office was deathly silent.
Frank sat in the corner smoking, one cigarette after another, until the ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts.
Sarah and Karen were arguing in hushed tones when they saw Leo enter, and immediately stopped talking.
Ethan stood by the window, looking at the night outside, his brow furrowed.
Everyone realized the severity of the crisis.
This is a war about identity, about recognition, and about trust.
On this battlefield, logic and reason are often the first to perish.
"Mr. President," Leo called out in his heart, "is this the quagmire you spoke of?"
Roosevelt's voice echoed in his mind.
"Yes, child."
"This is a dirty bomb in American politics."
"Race."
"When I was implementing the new policies, a large part of the resistance I faced came from the Southern Democrats and from the rifts within that old coalition."
"Those Southern plantation owners and politicians knew very well what a terrible force they would have if poor white sharecroppers and poor black tenant farmers united."
"So, they've been doing only one thing for hundreds of years."
"They kept telling poor white people: 'You may be poor, but at least you are white, and you are superior to those black people. If you stand with them, you will lose this last bit of nobility.'"
"They use this illusory sense of superiority to gain the loyalty of poor white people, thereby maintaining their rule over all the poor."
"This is an open conspiracy with no solution."
Roosevelt explained, "Leo, you must understand that the reason this method is effective, and why it has worked for hundreds of years, is because it takes advantage of human sociality."
"Humans are born to categorize themselves into groups."
"We are divided by region, by language, by skin color. We desperately need to belong to one 'us,' and at the same time, we desperately need to create another 'them.'"
"It seems that only by excluding those who are different, only by confirming that they are superior to another group of people, can humans obtain a false sense of security."
"This instinct is ingrained in our blood and cannot be changed."
"And those in power are best at turning this natural physiological characteristic into a political wall."
"This is entirely a man-made obstacle."
"They turned people who were equally hungry and struggling in the mud against each other because of the difference in the reflectivity of their skin."
"What Cartwright is doing now is simply plucking that ugly chord once again."
Roosevelt sighed.
"Once you fall into this self-justification trap, no matter how you explain it, it will be wrong."
"If you explain to white people that you are not biased towards black people, black people will think that you really don't value them."
"If you explain to Black people that you will take care of their interests, white people will think that you are indeed using their money to do them a favor."
"Cartwright put you between two millstones; he wanted to grind you to pieces."
The next day, the latest poll data came out.
Karen placed the report on the table, and Leo picked it up and glanced at it.
For the first time, the ever-rising approval rating curve stalled, and even dipped slightly downwards at the end.
Detailed data analysis shows that his support rate in white working-class communities dropped by three percentage points.
In minority communities, his approval rating remains low and shows no signs of improvement.
Frank stubbed out his cigarette on the table, leaving a black scorch mark.
"Someone posted a picture of that flyer in my union group chat," Frank said hoarsely. "Some people are starting to leave the group; they say they don't want to be cannon fodder for a Black enthusiast."
Sarah looked at the computer screen.
"We've started getting a lot of racist comments on our YouTube channel," Sarah said. "We're deleting them, but we can't delete them all. These comments are infuriating our minority supporters, and they're arguing all over the comments section."
Leo looked at the disintegrating situation before him.
He had to find a way to break the deadlock.
If he cannot reunite these people who are divided by racial hatred.
If he cannot convince people that class interests are above racial prejudices.
Then he will be dragged to his death by this quagmire of racial politics.
But Leo knew very well that this was far from the end.
A seasoned politician like Cartwright, who has been a fixture in Pittsburgh politics for eight years, would never resort to just two moves once he decides to take action.
So far, Cartwright has only used the media as a tool.
His trump card, the enormous administrative power held by the current mayor, has not even been truly activated yet.
The real killer move is yet to come.
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